J. Jance - Name Witheld

"Well?" Bill Whitten asked me impatiently. "Do you see it or not?"

As I tried to see what he meant, Latty was murmuring, "I see what you mean-it is very beautiful, especially with all the lights on in the buildings. It looks…"

Her voice faded away, muffled by what sounded like a kiss. An interval of impassioned necking followed. Trying to ignore the panting and the breathless moans, I continued to study the room, trying to find whatever it was that Bill Whitten's question implied was out of place. It took a while, but finally I spotted it.

"His wife's picture is missing."

"That's right," Whitten returned. "I have that on film, too, by the way. Don put it away in the top drawer of his credenza on Wednesday afternoon, just before he left work. That proves he must have been planning to bring her here all along."

"It doesn't prove anything," I corrected, "although it may suggest that he was planning to bring someone here with him."

By now, the necking had escalated into a series of sexually aroused groans and whispers. I'm no Peeping Tom. Listening to or even watching somebody else make out isn't my idea of a good time.

"Look," I said impatiently. "Is there any point to all this?"

"Just wait," Bill Whitten replied. "You'll see."

Latty suddenly reappeared on the screen. Her lipstick was smeared, her hair in disarray. "Donnie, we've got to stop now while we still can," she said breathlessly.

"But I want you."

"I know you do. And I want you, too. But not like this. I already told you that, and we agreed. Let's quit now, please," she begged. "Take me home before we end up doing something we'll both regret."

Don Wolf followed Latty into camera range, his arms outstretched. "Oh, baby, don't do this to me. Don't tell me to stop, not now. Please. Just let me hold you."

Trying to pat her hair back in place, she slipped away from him and headed for the door. Don Wolf caught her by one arm and yanked her back to him.

"Ouch!" she cried out in surprise. "Donnie, that hurt. Let me go!"

But he gave no sign of having heard. "Please, baby," he murmured again, clasping her in his arms and pressing her against his chest. "Please don't leave me like this. I want you so much it hurts-so much that it's driving me crazy. I want-"

"No!" she said firmly, placing both hands on his shoulders and bodily prying herself away from him. "Let's don't get carried away. I don't-"

A demanding kiss cut off Latty's objection in midsentence. Don's encircling arms tightened around her once more, pinioning her against him. When she struggled to get loose, the two of them weaved back and forth, swaying jerkily like a pair of awkward dancers.

"Please, Don, don't," she said again, once she finally succeeded in freeing her lips from his. "That's enough now. No more."

There was a clear note of annoyance in her objection, but no alarm, no panic. Not yet, although there certainly should have been.

"Don!" This objection was firmer than the previous one, but she still wasn't actually fighting him. "Donnie, what are you doing? Stop it!"

But he didn't stop. Catching her off balance, Wolf effortlessly shoved Latty backward between the two captain's chairs in front of the desk. Latty's backward movement stopped abruptly when her hip slammed into the edge of the desk behind her. Yelping in pain, she sank back against the desk, trying to steady herself while at the same time attempting to separate herself from Don Wolf's overpowering embrace.

For a moment, it almost worked. In fact, he seemed to back off. He thrust her away from him. Further unbalanced by this unexpected shove, Latty fell back on the surface of the desk with a head-cracking thump. As she fell, he reached out and caught the bodice of her dress in one knotty fist. What followed was a terrible rip as the fragile material tore down the middle.

"Don!" she shrieked. "What have you done to my dress?"

I found myself gripping the arms of my chair. I felt like I did when I was a terrified little kid, sitting in a darkened theater next to my mother, watching Snow White about to take a bite of that terrible poisoned apple.

Don't take it, don't take it! I had willed silently to the lovely cartoon figure on the screen, while my tiny fingers had clutched the sticky armrests in helpless desperation. But no amount of little-boy urging had saved Snow White from her fate back then. And now, my adult gut-wrenching horror did nothing to save Latty from what was coming.

Don Wolf fell on her like an enraged beast, slapping her into submission, tearing off her panty hose and panties, prying her flailing legs apart with his body. Crying out, she squirmed and fought beneath him, but the smooth, polished wood of the desk worked against her. She could gain no purchase. There was no escape. Don Wolf was stronger than she was.

When it was all over, when Latty lay nearly naked and sobbing on the desk, the indifferent caption on the screen said 12:01. The entire incident, from beginning to end, had taken less than fifteen minutes.

It seemed much longer.

My collar was too tight. There wasn't enough air to breathe in Bill Whitten's darkened office. "Damn!" I said. "What a good-for-nothing shit!"

"Pretty rough, isn't it," Whitten said.

I had seen worse, but still…"Is that it?" I asked.

Whitten shook his head. "No, wait."

"You mean there's more?"

Back on the screen, Latty was sobbing and struggling to sit up. "I'm going to leave now," she gasped. Her lower lip was bleeding and starting to swell.

"Oh, my God, Latty," Don Wolf said, as though waking from a stupor at the sight of the blood. "What have I done?"

He reached out one hand as if to help her. She cringed away from him. "Don't touch me," she screeched. "Get away."

"But, baby," he whined. "Please. I never meant to hurt you, I swear. I just got carried away and-"

"Shut up!" she hissed furiously. "I'm going to walk out of here and you're not going to stop me."

"Latty, I can't believe I did this to you. I'm sorry, so sorry. Please don't go. Please say you'll forgive me."

"I'm going to walk out," Latty continued, as if he hadn't said a word. She stumbled to her feet. When she did so, her torn dress fell away from her body. She grabbed the frayed edges of material and tried to hold them together. Swaying unsteadily on her feet, she finally located her shoes and slipped them on. Then she reached out, snagged Don Wolf's jacket off the desk, and wrapped it around her shoulders. I could see the reflexive chattering of her teeth, but somehow, she wasn't crying any longer. In fact, considering what had just happened, she seemed astoundingly calm. And cold sober.

By then, Don Wolf had moved across the room so he was standing between her and the door; between her and the lens of the camera as well. He was tucking in his shirt, zipping his pants.

"Don't go, Latty. Not like this."

"Call me a cab," she returned doggedly.

"I'll take you home, Latty. I promise I won't touch you again. Honest."

He moved toward her, but she recoiled, stopping only when the desk was safely interposed between them.

"I told you, don't touch me! Don't you ever come near me again!" she commanded. "Call a cab."

Shrugging, he picked up the phone and punched out a number from memory. "My name's Don Wolf," he said. "I need a cab at thirty-three hundred Western." He waited for a moment, listening. "That's right," he said. "It's an office building, not an apartment. Just pull up by the front door. We'll be waiting in the lobby."

He put down the phone. "The cab should be here within fifteen minutes."

"I'll be waiting in the lobby," Latty corrected, struggling to keep her voice under control. "You stay right here until after I've gone."

"But Latty," he objected, "I-"